


ER

by pjlover666



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Major AU, Multi, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 16:47:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pjlover666/pseuds/pjlover666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jazz returns to Iacon  and gets a job in Iacon Central Hospital. Sounds simple? Not really. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ER

**Author's Note:**

> Based on many great TV shows, such as ER, Grey's Anatomy and House MD being top of that list. Also, quite a bit of personal experience working this job.
> 
> I couldn't help it ^^ I always wanted to write a 'verse where all of the mechs instead of soldiers, are doctors. Sadly, I don't know if I'll write more of this, given I have other projects and studies to do, but this has been sitting on my laptop for over an year and a half.
> 
> Transformers doesn't belong to me, along with all the great medical dramas.

 

* * *

ER

A new job

* * *

It was raining acid hard that orn. Luckily, it was more quantity over quality, so it wasn't as poisonous nor dangerous. There were barely any mechs walking on the streets, everyone hidden somewhere. For the buildings of Iacon, this was normal occurrence. They were near the meridian of the planet, and as such acid rains were nothing new. It resulted in the unique design of the architecture, so very distinct from the one in Praxus. Here the buildings were, to put it mildly, sturdy.

The sign of Iacon's Central Hospital stood out in the dark weather, even if it was early in the orn. Its light glinted fluorescent red in the darkness of the orn, always on. And as calm and serene it was outside in the rain, it was chaos inside when a mech walked in.

Jazz couldn't help but whistle at the mad house that was the ER. It was understandable in a way due to the acid and everyone was seeking shelter, but ER's were always understaffed and the current situation wasn't helping manners.

All kinds of frame types, from various of ages, were plucked in the waiting room. It was _big_. Fitted for over 80 mecha to wait for their turns, and it spoke a lot when it was overflowing. Some of them were even in recharge, others were pacing nervously, and of course creators trying to calm their crying sparklings and younglings, adding their cries to the noise-turned-music that was the waiting room.

Navigating himself through the jungle of mecha, Jazz headed for the nurse at the reception. She was sweet-looking and kind, so the visored mech smiled charmingly, "Heya there, I'm Jazz—"

"Take a seat, please." The nurse there didn't even spare him a glance from the registration boot.

"But—"

"Sir, take a seat and the doctor will see to you when your turn comes."

"And Ah don't doubt that, but—"

"Sir," Okay, definitely _not_ sweet. The pink femme looked up at him, ready to chew his helm off when the double doors for gurneys opened and an emergency team, all wearing protective coating for the acid rain, burst in.

"Homeless mech, severe third degree burns to the chest and helm." The paramedic shouted at the nurse as she went to open the doors for them, "We couldn't get a line in, not without getting some of the acid in him."

The nurse growled, "This is why I hate acid storms. We're overflowing and still more patients come. Take him to fifth, it just got free. I'll call the team."

Jazz decided to follow the gurney, after all that seemed the only way to get inside for—

"And where do you think you're going?" The pink nurse stopped him, "I told you to wait your turn."

Jazz's visor could only flicker in surprise at the hostile nurse. He was about to say something else about the crazy situation when a femme sitting on one of the chairs came next to them.

"Please, when can I get my pain-killers? My chest hurts really badly." The voice was raspy and definitely tired. Pale optics and door wings almost flat on her back, she looked pleadingly at the femme.

"When your turn comes." The nurse answered simply.

Jazz looked her over, noted how she obviously didn't fuel regularly and her paint was rather dull. There were signs of rust around her joints, her frame shaking lightly.

Jazz logged her in his mind to remember to treat once - _if_ \- he got inside the building. He saw that the nurse was distracted enough explaining why they couldn't take the femme right in and decided that this was his chance.

"I'm nurse Arcee. And unless you want me to call security—hey, _hey_ come back you!"

Jazz however ignored her and was fast enough to enter the ER. He quickly had to find the Chief of Staff before the femme actually _did_ call security.

There was a huge round desk with multiple monitors and charts, obviously the admission bureau and looked at the board that had all the current doctors on shift.

_Ratchet – Attending, Head of Emergency Department_

'Bingo,' Jazz thought cheerfully, but it was short lived as the nurse from before had returned with the cavalry as it would seem, "Where can I find the Head of the ER?" Jazz leaned over the desk and asked a bright orange mech who was working on the comms. The mech also didn't spare him a glance as he pointed at a direction, and as a mech who didn't want to be thrown out from the ER, Jazz headed that way.

It would seem that it was the room where the acid burned victim was, and guessing by the commanding gruff demeanor, the cursing red and white mech was the CMO here. Joy.

"Uh, heya there." Jazz said over the commotion in the room, "CMO Ratchet?"

"What?! Can't you see I'm busy?!" The mech growled and issued some more orders.

"I'm Jazz, we spoke on the comms."

"Get me someone else in here, I don't have eight arms yet!" Ratchet growled and looked at the nurse in charge, "Elita!"

"Who? Red Alert is home sick, you know what the acid makes him like, Inferno is stuck in the ICU, Wheeljack and Starscream are tending to more burnt victims that seem to multiply as we speak. All the surgeons on call are in surgery, so who exactly do you want me to page?" It was amazing how sweet her voice could be in the face of Ratchet.

"Your bonded?" Ratchet asked, "Or his brother? I need more hands here!"

"Over here." Jazz raised his hand.

"Optimus is busy with the pediatrics' floor. He's currently on call; plus a conference afterwards. Megatron is busy arguing with the tech-people to get the damn 3D frame scanner on-line."

"Hellooo, I can help." Jazz piped in calmly, hand still waving.

"What?!" Ratchet snapped, hands not stopping their work as the nurse looked at him as well.

"Like I said, I'm Jazz. We spoke on the comm link before. I start work in the ER this orn."

Ratchet just stared at him for a few klicks before shouting, "Then what are you standing around for! Get your decals on and give us a hand! We're swamped!"

Jazz raised his optical ridges behind his visor and said, "Oookay, if ya say so. Where're the locker rooms?"

"Down the hall and to your left." The nurse, Elita, answered and sighed when Ratchet let out another set of curses, "You might want to hurry."

"Got it."

With that, Jazz headed for the locker rooms, keeping low profile away from the crazy nurse from before. He found them easy enough and placed his red crosses on his left shoulder and the other on his hip. Some mechs liked wearing them on various of places – shoulders, forearms, door-wings, helm. Jazz preferred it done with "style" that won't get in the way. After that, he returned quickly to the room where the CMO was working and assisted him in treating the burns. As it turned out, if you did your work good, he wouldn't grumble. Much.

"Alright." Ratchet started as they left the trauma room, "Your first shifts starts now and ends in 62 joors. I see you've found the registration and information. We have six trauma rooms, along with 80 berths on standby. Don't get fooled by the number kid, there's never enough room for all, especially in rainy orns like this one."

Jazz nodded, looking around.

Ratchet looked him up and down, sighing in annoyance, "I was hoping for someone with more... experience, not fresh out of med school."

"I've got a couple of vorns under my belt, Chief." Jazz gave him a Cheshire grin. Ratchet wasn't impressed.

"Riiiight. What was your specialty again?" Ratchet asked as he went to the front desk and started shuffling through the charts.

"Trauma," Jazz said easily, "With toxicology as a sub."

Ratchet nodded in approval, there were never enough mechs in that area, and got called aside for a consult. Jazz was about to get one of the charts to work on when another medic called him aside.

"I need this mech's lab results, now." The seeker ordered, again not looking at Jazz. What was with these mechs and avoiding optic contact, Jazz wondered.

"I'm not—" Jazz started.

"Go. NOW!" The seeker turned to look at him, "Or you'll lose this job faster than your stupid little head could understand."

Jazz just blinked a couple of times and opened his mouth to tell this mech to shove it up his aft when a colorful mech suddenly pulled him aside.

"Better do what he tells ya kid, ya don't want Screamer as yer enemy here." A mech with strange light fins and a mask said.

"Don't really want him as my friend ether." Jazz spoke, causing the mech to chuckle, "Where the Pit are the labs here?"

"Third floor, next to neuro." The mech said kindly.

"Wheeljack! Where's that new nanity-cream you say you perfected? It better be as good as you say."

Wheeljack sighed, "Ahh, the joy of working with plastic surgeons. Perfectionists till the very end."

Jazz just shook his head. It would turn out to be a very long double shift tonight by the looks of things. And here he had believed it would be boring to work in Iacon Central Hospital.

He went to the third floor, followed the signs, and tried asking a couple of workers but everyone seemed to be in a hurry. So instead, Jazz just started randomly opening doors, hoping to find someone willing to help him. He really didn't care he was taking so long to get the lab results. The patient that plastic surgeon was working on didn't seem urgent.

Jazz couldn't help but freeze as he opened a door to reveal a small utility closet. It _wasn't_ empty.

"Uhhh..." Jazz searched for words as his visor swept over the sitting Praxian inside it, doing charts.

"What?" The Praxian snapped and looked up at Jazz.

"...I'm looking for the labs." Jazz spoke, deciding not to ask. His orn was just getting weirder and weirder.

"Well, they are obviously not here."

Jazz resisted the urge to shove the door in his face, "And where can I find them?"

"Down the hall, you've taken a wrong turn."

"Oookay." With that said, Jazz closed the door, paused, shook his head and went on his way.

_5 joors later_

"Enjoying your shift, Jazz?" Ratchet called as Jazz was dressing the wound of an acid burnt victim. Luckily it was small and it needed a patch up job only.

"Ya kiddin'? I'm having the time of my life here." Jazz replied easily.

Ratchet could only smirk as he went to work again. Jazz looked up at the waiting room, and saw the femme from before still there, clutching her chest.

"Hey, you two." Jazz called a yellow and red mech, "Yer interns, right?"

He got two very separate reaction. The yellow one glared (and Jazz made a mental note to not let that one near younglings) and asked, "So?"

While the red one replied with a cheerful, "Yup!"

"Can ya finish dressing this wound?"

"Why, too hard for you?" The yellow one asked.

Jazz just smiled at him, "Why yes, it's quite hard. Just as hard as giving that mech over there on bed three a valve exam. I think I'm not competent enough to do it, so I guess it's up to you."

"Hey, you can't do that!" The yellow mech said.

"Oh, as yer resident I can do lots of things. Wanna find out all of 'em?" Jazz asked sweetly with a smile, making the red mech snicker.

"You kinda earned it Sunny."

"Shut up. Don't call me that."

Jazz shook his helm and went to the waiting area, bypassing Arcee who slid her finger across her throat in a silent threat after the fiasco in the morning. Jazz just blew a kiss at the seething femme and went straight to the dull one.

"Hey there." He started gently, "You okay? What hurts?"

"My chest." The femme replied weakly, on the burst of tears, "My pain meds are all out and it really hurts."

"Come on, let's get ya inside." Jazz helped her up.

"Hey! Where are you taking her?" Starscream demanded from the front desk where he was filling in some charts.

"She's in pain. I'm admitting her." Jazz said easily.

"Ohhh no." The seeker said and went next to them, halting their way, "TC treated her a few months back, then it was me, then Ironhide, then Red Alert, then Prowl and now you."

"Am I supposed to know who all those mechs are?" Jazz asked, irritated. The femme was getting wobbly next to him.

"She's a drug addict." Starscream said, angry, "Just give her some pain meds per protocol and let her go. We don't have the berths for her admission. And if you want to be a true saint, call Smokescreen from psyche to get her in touch with some rehab programs."

"Thanks for the info, now get out of my way."

"Listen here—" The seeker's wings flared, his red crosses coming into full view but the mech on the front desk answering the comms suddenly yelled:

" _Incoming!_ A public transport wasn't able to withstand the acid and crashed! Multiple injures headed our way!"

"And where in the Pit do they expect us all to take them in?!" Ratchet all but yelled across the room, "We're already flooded as it is!" He pointed at the waiting area, where it seemed more mechs and femmes had emerged. "Blaster, tell them we can't!"

"We're the closest one." Blaster explained, "The ambulances are all on their way now."

"Great." Ratchet said, "Alright, call everyone available, all hands on deck. The non emergent patients to be placed in the waiting area with the rest, I want all the trauma rooms cleared up. Someone call the energon bank and have them ready." He looked at all the faces, "What are you all waiting for?! Go!"

Jazz mentally cursed as he had to take the femme back into the waiting area. Mechs he had never seen before soon after came. It was chaos. Optimus, the head of pediatrics' department came, along with his brother – a mech that Jazz didn't quite get his function. There was the strange Praxian he had seen in the closet – apparently he was a neurologist (or a nut job in Jazz's opinion), an ortho-mech Ironhide, even the interns were instructed what to do and how to help.

And as the double doors opened and the paramedics (which Jazz had discovered where a team called the Constructicons) pushed in the first of many injured, and the visored mech knew that this orn would turn out just like he had predicted it – endless.

_32 joors later_

Jazz offlined his visor just for a second. There were patients saved, patients lost; all in all, a typical ER. Still, the long joors were having an effect on him and the helm-ache sooo wasn't helping. Stascream's screeching just added to it. Still, the mech was painfully competent; Jazz would give him credit in that, even thought it annoyed him to no end.

The ER was a place where all kinds of specialists got called for consults. In just one orn, he had seen the dynamics between the different departments. It was all about team-work. In some places it lacked, in others not so much.

The nurses hated Jazz. Elita one was okay so far, but he had the distinct feeling to be wary of her. Arcee hated his internals, that he was certain off, there was this other nurse Chromia that was bigger in frame than him and had found out by some gossip that she was bonded to the ortho-mech, Ironhide.

The door suddenly opened and Jazz grumbled out, "Occupied."

The frame just stared down at him, "...This is a utility closet."

Jazz eyed him, "So? Ya were hiding in it too."

"I wasn't hiding in it." His wings flared.

"Sorry, I didn't hear ya before. There was a patient screamin' in my audios from pain and all."

"...This is _my_ utility closet."

Jazz leaned back, "I don't see your designation on it."

Prowl glared and flickered his wings. Not one to be deterred, he entered the cramped place closing the door behind him and sat down next to Jazz, pulling out some data pads.

"If you must know, it's quiet in here. There is no one to bother me. Doing the charts here relaxes me."

"Are you telling me this so that I can show ya how decent of a mech I am and leave ya to yer closet?"

"Yes."

"Ha, like that'll ever happen." Jazz snorted and turned off his visor.

Prowl looked him over, "If you cannot survive the first two orns in the ER, then I'm sorry to say, your place is not here."

Jazz turned on his visor and gave Prowl a look, "Says the mech hiding in a utility closet. Weren't ya Head of Nuero or something?"

"I'm not hiding." Prowl snapped.

"Right." Jazz said, non-convinced.

"Get out, this is my closet."

Jazz was about to reply, however he got paged to the ER. He stood up and smirked in challenge down at the neurologist. "I _will_ be back."

"I _will_ lock the door."

"I'd like to see ya try."

Once he got down the first floor to the ER he saw why he was called. There was a drunken mech – a _BIG_ drunken mech - causing trouble. And Starscream of all mechs seemed to be edging him on. The Constructicons were looking at the scene rather amused, obviously the ones who had brought in the brute.

"What the Pit is 'Screamer doin'?!" Jazz asked the mech next to him, who turned out to be Wheeljack.

"He's been here since the rain started; he's in a foul mood."

"So he decided to aggravate the drunken tank-former?" Jazz raised his optic ridges.

"Hey, we told him to give the sedatives time to work..." Onslaught said from the back of the group. A nurse cursed.

Everyone watched how the inebriated mech's attention shifted from the ranting seeker and focused on one of the nurses, more precisely, Arcee.

"Oh, slag." Jazz called as he rushed forward and pulled her away before the drunk could land on her.

"Ya might wanna call security for that mech, not me." Jazz said dryly.

Arcee just looked at him hotly, "Kup is over there, passed out, where the brute hit him."

"Oh." Jazz just looked at the mech that a couple of mecha were trying to subdue but were having a hard time. "I guess it can't be helped. Call Ironhide for possible fractures and Prowl for a nuero consult."

Arcee just looked at him like he had lost his mind, "For whom?"

"This fella." Jazz said as he stood up and took one of the heavy hover chairs, _"Hey!"_ And threw the chair at him. The mech, obviously surprised, didn't have time to react and got hit in the helm with a loud crash, offlining on the spot. There was a long moment of silence as all looked between Jazz and the knocked out mech. Sideswipe's whisper of _'so cool'_ was heard loud and clear in the quiet. Which sadly was short lived.

"Jazz!" Ratchet boomed, "What the frag did you do?!"

"I saved us a law quit." Jazz said easily. "And more injuries."

"No, you just cost us one!" Starscream growled.

"Hey, shut it!" Arcee's voice rouse, "I didn't see any of you geniuses doing anything productive, so be quiet and let's get this idiot on a gurney!"

"You better go and speak with legal." Wheeljack quietly muttered in Jazz's audio as a couple of mechs went to haul the tank former on the berth. The visored mech could only his face in his palm. Just great.

_52 joors later_

As Jazz entered the ER, everyone started clapping at him. He just shook his helm, amused and went to sit next to the comm's mech, called Blaster.

"So, what's the verdict?" Blaster asked, more amused than worried.

"One meta-cycle work with no pay." Jazz said, hiding how that fact didn't stood well with him at all.

"Still, that thing you did was so cool!" Sideswipe suddenly popped up on the front desk. "I even have it recorded! Say, you searching to mentor someone—off!"

"He almost lost his job, idiot!" Sunsreaker pushed his brother away.

"Those legal bastards." Ironhide grumbled from behind them, "They'll do anything to keep their servos clean."

"Can you blame them?" Prowl spoke from a couple of chairs away, typing something into the computer, "The mech did throw a hover-chair at a patient. Where you honestly expecting a pat on the shoulder?"

"Don't worry Prowler, next time a patient is attacking you, I'll just stand by and watch." Jazz's sweet voice and visor hid the glare. That seemed to end the conversation as he rubbed his face tiredly. Just 10 more joors and he could get some recharge. It was then that he saw a familiar face in the waiting room.

"Oh, you have _got_ to be KIDDING me!" Jazz snapped and stood up from his chair, pointing at the waiting room. "That femme is still there? Why hasn't anyone tended to her? She's been here for over 50 joors!"

"Because she's not critical." A nurse called Chromia replied. "You know how triage works."

Jazz didn't answer and just went to the lobby where he went next to the recharging femme. Some of the other waiting mecha tried to get his attention so they could get in, but right now the femme had earned her turn. Primus, 50 joors…

"Hey, hey wake up." He started gently. The femme didn't react. "Hey," Jazz pressed a hand on her cheek and froze as he felt how cold she was. He reached to pinch her door-wings – something quite unpleasant, but necessary to see how responsive she was. However, there was no reaction.

"I need some help over here!" Jazz yelled as he hoisted up the femme in his arms and carried her to a gurney. Prowl and Ironhide were waiting there to help as well.

"She just came for some pain-meds." Jazz cursed as he worked, "This shouldn't be happening."

It shouldn't, yet it did. Once they scanned her, they saw that there was a dissection on one of the main fuel lines connecting with her engine. There was nothing they could do, they've caught it too late. They didn't even rush her to surgery, because she would simply bleed out on her way there and the engine would drown in its own energon.

That was the last straw.

"We could've saved her!" Jazz snarled and pushed a tray with instruments out of his way, the clatter deafening. "If we had simply admitted her, had done some basic tests, we would've seen the dissection early and treated it! She would've been alive still!" He went to Starscream to and jabbed his finger in his chest, making the seeker sneer.

"And lead what life?" Starscream asked carefully, "She was a drug addict; she had no support system if she went under the surgery."

"That was not our choice to make!" Jazz was all but shaking now, "Who are we to decide who lives and who dies?! We should've saved her." He hissed, "She is dead because we failed, and that is on ALL of us!"

With that, he walked away before he gave himself another reason to visit legal that orn. However, if he had wished for solitude, he really shouldn't have expected it here. Why did he choose to work in this hospital again?

"Really, there are countless other utility closets in the hospital. Why did you take this one?" Prowl asked as he closed the door and sat down next to Jazz who didn't seem to acknowledge his presence.

Only when Prowl pulled out a cube of energon did Jazz visor flicker as the Praxian took a sip from the warm liquid metal.

"I take it you haven't fueled in the 59 joors you've been here." It was a statement as Prowl looked him over.

"Didn't exactly had the time, if you know what I mean." Jazz muttered and looked away.

"It wasn't your fault that femme died." Prowl spoke quietly.

"She should've lived. Not died like forgotten trash in your waiting room."

"Statistically, over 40% of patients die in the ER because they are being overlooked."

"Is this your way of comforting me?"

"…Yes."

Jazz snorted.

"Tomorrow do better." Prowl said, "Plus, don't throw hover chairs at mechs."

"No promises."

Prowl drank half of his cube and offered the rest to Jazz who just looked curiously at the still stranger and shook his head, "I really don't feel like fueling right now." He muttered. The image of the femme dead on the gurney killed any desire to fuel in him. "I think it stopped raining though." Jazz muttered, "Some of the patients in the lobby were leaving. Of course right when our shift is about to end." He looked curiously at Prowl, "You were here for quite some time."

"Actually, no. I went home. I refueled, I took a shower, I recharged." Prowl explained and smirked at Jazz's glare, "I live across the street."

"Slagger."

0000

It was early that morning when Jazz stumbled in his apartment to be greeted by the most grumpy hospice nurse to ever walk Iacon.

"You are late." She said, "My limit joors are exceeded. Thoroughly."

Jazz winced in sympathy, "I know and I'm sorry. I'll pay ya for the overtime, don't worry."

"Hm, you better. And control that brother of yours! He stumbled in the middle of the night, drunk! He scared the spark out of me!"

"I'll speak with him, don't worry." Jazz said as he pulled up a couple of credit sticks plus extra to compensate.

Walking down the hallway, he went into his carrier's room, peeking inside. He was peacefully recharging. Making sure he was nicely tucked in, Jazz went upstairs to check on his brother, sighing when he found him passed out on the floor.

... It was a long orn. Sighing, Jazz went to help him up the berth.

"Jazzy..."

"Hey Ric." Jazz grunted as he hefted him up, "Next time try and make to the berth, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Jazz was about to leave when his brother's voice stopped him again, "Hey Jazz?"

"Hmm?"

"Happy Creation Orn, bro..." Ricochet muttered, voice drifting, as he used the last of his energy to point at something on the counter. Oh, right. Jazz blinked a couple of times making his visor flicked. It was his creation orn. How did he forget?

Still, curious despite his tiredness, Jazz went to see what his brother meant, only to smile sadly. Confections, and his favorite ones at that. Placing one in his mouth to chew on, Jazz stopped for a moment to enjoy the taste. He retracted his visor.

Quietly, he took the tray and left, softly closing the door behind him.


End file.
